I failed.  Though he was broken in every visible way there was one thing as strong as ever—­his honour.  He was not afraid; he had been the same in his boyhood.  When we parted that night he kissed me.  I shall never forget how long he looked into my eyes, nor his sadness.  That is all.  The next morning he left for San Francisco.

And then came the end.  A message; abrupt and sudden.  It was some time after and put a period to my increasing stress and worry.  It read: 

City of Peru docks tonight at eight.  Meet me at the pier.  Hobart coming,—­Harry.

It was a short message and a bit twisted.  In ordinary circumstances he would have motored down and brought me back to greet Hobart.  It was a bit strange that I should meet him at the pier.  However, I had barely time to get to the city if I hurried.

I shall never forget that night.

It was dark when I reached San Francisco.  I was a full twenty minutes early at the pier.  A few people were waiting.  I looked about for Harry.  He was to meet me and I was certain that I would find him.  But he was not there.  Of course there was still time.  He was sure to be on hand to greet Hobart.

Nevertheless, I had a vague mistrust.  Since that strange visit I had not been sure.  Harry wasn’t well.  There was something to this mystery that he had not told me.  Why had he asked me to meet him at the pier?  Why didn’t he come?  When the boat docked and he was still missing I was doubly worried.

Hobart came down the gangplank.  He was great, strong, healthy, and it seemed to me in a terrible hurry.  He scanned the faces hurriedly and ran over to me.

“Where’s Harry?” He kissed me and in the same breath repeated, “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh, Hobart!” I exclaimed.  “What’s the matter with Harry?  Tell me.  It’s something terrible!”

He was afraid.  Plainly I could see that!  There were lines of anxiety about his eyes.  He clutched me by the arm and drew me away.

“He was to meet me here,” I said.  “He didn’t come.  He was to meet me here!  Oh, Hobart, I saw him some time ago.  He was—­it was not Harry at all!  Do you know anything about it?”

For a minute he stood still, looking at me.  I had never seen Hobart frightened; but at that moment there was that in his eyes which I could not understand.  He caught me by the arm and started out almost at a run.  There were many people and we dodged in and out among them.  Hobart carried a suitcase.  He hailed a taxi.

I don’t know how I got into the car.  It was a blur.  I was frightened.  Some terrible thing had occurred, and Hobart knew it.  I remember a few words spoken to the driver.  “Speed, speed, no limit; never mind the law—­and Chatterton Place!” After that the convulsive jerking over the cobbled streets, a climbing over hills and twisted corners.  And Hobart at my side.  “Faster—­faster,” he was saying; “faster!  My lord, was there ever a car so slow!  Harry!  Harry!” I could hear him breathing a prayer.  Another hill; the car turned and came suddenly to a stop!  Hobart leaped out.